With slow, unwilling steps the five men marched onward into captivity.
"I'll see to the wounded," said the detective.
Four of the brigands had been killed outright.
Others were writhing on the ground and using bad language.
"Two and four make six," muttered Mr. Nabley; "six and four are ten. Why, I could have sworn that there were eleven. Yes, certainly there was another. Where the deuce could he have got to?"
The most diligent search, that is, the most diligent search possible under the circumstances, failed to find the faintest trace of the missing man.
"That's the one I gave that smack in the face," said Nabley to himself. "Well, I know I gave it to him pretty warm besides that. He hasn't got far. He has crawled somewhere to die, I suppose. Well, well, I can't deny him that little luxury."
And then, by dint of threatening the wounded with instant death, he persuaded them to crawl after the rest.
* * * * *
And when our three adventurers marched into the town with their prisoners between them, there was a loud outcry.
Cheers, bravos, huzzahs, at every step of the way.